Chapter Text
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Storms in the Forsaken Realm were far from pleasant. They were loud, rather aggressive, and would last for days on end.
These storms made it impossible to leave shelter with how slick the grounds became. Mud would be everywhere, so traversing areas without solid floor was quite the gamble.
Luckily, this horrid weather didn't stretch to the rounds. If it did, both sides would probably be done for.
It was almost impossible to see through the pouring rain, like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
During these times, the survivors would typically camp out in the lobby. They'd start a fire and stay inside for the duration of the storm, only leaving to gather more resources, which didn't happen often after the first storm, when Builderman made the decision to keep a stash for situations regarding the weather.
The team learned quick that staying as a group was far better than splitting up into their separate cabins, in the rare case something happened and help was needed.
The storms were unpredictable, and things could quickly go off the rails in the blink of an eye.
Two Time didn't like it at first, the idea of always having somebody nearby, but grew to tolerate the unavoidable company.
The couch was the most filled, so they mainly stuck to the strange diner area, where no food was ever actually served. They were close enough so the others wouldn't seek them out, but far enough to have some peace.
While the rest of the survivors chatted amongst themselves, mainly plans on different ways to survive the rounds forced upon them, Two Time stayed away. They picked at their sharpened nails, almost resembling claws at this point, with a subtle black tint to them.
During their time with the Spawnists they'd kept their nails rather short, never letting them grow past their fingertips. It would've just gotten in the way of their chores, mostly consisting of cleaning the church after sermons and rituals.
They were proud to admit they-although some may not believe it-were probably the cleanest among the team when it came to their surroundings.
Amarah often told them that the Spawn blessed those who kept the floors clear and furniture spotless, drilled it into their head like most things he taught them.
Those habits had carried with them into the Forsaken Realm. They kept the lobby and their shared cabin as clean as possible, making sure nothing was left where it didn't belong. Elliot probably found this behavior annoying, but he hadn't told Two Time to stop, so they kept it up.
At first they were appalled to learn the others weren't just as eager to pick things up when they dropped, even if was them who tipped it.
Most didn't see it as a big deal, and that was.. strange to them.
Still, even though they had been assured and reassured multiple times that the lobby didn't need to be spotless 24/7, Two Time still got that itch to adjust things when they weren't centered.
Perfectionist? Maybe, but we've gotten off track.
Right, their nails. They didn't appreciate the length, but mostly dealt with it.
There was no way to cut them, safely at least, and well... They weren't above scratching someone across the face if their dagger wasn't near.
Nails made good weapons when strong enough, though not as great as a blade.
Rain pounded against the wooden walls of the lobby, startling them out of their thoughts, and they moved their hands away from each other so they would stop fidgeting.
The wind picked up and thunder grumbled in the distance, making the floor shake beneath Two Time's feet.
Their tail twitched beside them, eyes flickering towards the living room, if it could even be called that. The chatter hadn't died down, and much like the storm, seemed to get louder as some sort of argument broke out.
They didn't listen enough to get the details, just that someone was upset at another person for apparently missing a stun. Not a rare thing to get mad at, Two Time has been on the receiving end of someone's frustration many times.
Despite the survivors somewhat bonding with each other over the terrors they faced as a team, they still argued.
It never got physical, but hurtful words would be said, voices would raise in volume, and a door would be slammed shut. Most of the survivors would make peace quick, but other times.. not really.
Two Time could still recall the time Elliot gave someone the silent treatment for what they could assume was a week.. not the delivery man's best moment.
They rested their palms over the revealed skin of their knees, feeling the walls tremble with every roar of thunder, light flashing from outside the windows.
Eventually, after just.. listening for awhile, their eyelids began to lower, and they rested their arms across the table, using them as a sort of makeshift pillow.
The lobby was cold, their position wasn't comfortable, and they twitched whenever the storm got too loud, but it was better than resting near the others in the middle of an argument.
For a moment, they felt as if they could actually get some sleep. They were always exhausted after the adrenaline from rounds wore off, yet rarely gave in to the call of slumber.
The noise soon became distant, and everything went quiet as they slipped away from consciousness, into the most vulnerable state for a person.
They were pretty certain they wouldn't be harmed anyways.
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